"Nothing will get your heart pumping more than that," Griffin had added. "The adrenaline sharpens your senses in a way that can save you when you're taking fire." His voice had hushed, and he'd looked at Rex. "Civilian life can seem lackluster after war. Almost colorless."
The words had jolted Jane then, and they gave her another unpleasant shake remembering them now. Jerked back to the present, she listened to the two reporters continuing their exchange of insults.
Skye spoke up for the first time, interrupting them. "I'd like to point out that forty summer-schooled teenagers gave you a standing ovation."
"That was for me," the two men said together.
Jane couldn't help but laugh.
Back at Beach House No. 9, she watched Griffin aid Rex up the path to his cottage. He said it was to make sure that the "crusty coot" didn't try stealing his half of the photos they'd mounted on a display board that Griffin carried tucked beneath his arm.
Though she couldn't hear his voice, his tone carried. More verbal abuse. And yet his steps were slow and his hand steady on the older man's elbow.
Nobody goddamn knows me.
But she knew enough, Jane suddenly thought, her blood starting to pulse in anxious chugs through her veins. Oh, God help her, she knew enough.
How many times had she seen the contradiction of Griffin's attitude and his actions? Complaining about the minions and yet brushing a kiss on a nephew's hair. His arms swooping to toss her into the ocean, then holding her close to calm her fears. Those "rules" he'd established about their sex life that were all for her ungovernable pleasure. Despite all his tough talk he'd always been so...caring.
Beside her, Skye sighed. "Look at that," she said, gesturing toward the pair of reporters. "Sweet, huh?"
Sweet? Disastrous. Jane's face went hot, and she couldn't feel her feet. There was a high whine of panic in her ears, and her fingers, when she knotted them together, were tense and cold.
She'd done it, she thought, feeling sick. She'd done the very thing she'd vowed to avoid. Silly and emotional Jane had fallen in love with a man she understood well enough to know he would never love her back.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GRIFFIN ROLLED HIS shoulders as he left Rex's place, the heat of the sun baking the last of the tension from his muscles. The speaking gig he'd been dreading was over. He'd managed to talk of his experience without choking on the words or running from the room.
It had gotten easier after the first couple of minutes. There'd been a water bottle at hand to alleviate the dryness of his mouth, and the kids had been fascinated with his description of the primitive conditions at the outpost. They hadn't skipped the hard questions. He'd been obliged to acknowledge witnessing death and grave injury - but he'd avoided going into much detail.
Still, a gloomy darkness had welled at the mention of it, and he'd been forced to focus on Rex's gnarled knuckles and take a few slow breaths. Maybe the other reporter had sensed his disquiet. When the classroom had begun to fade in his vision, the curmudgeon had jumped in, his loud voice bringing Griffin back to whiteboards and textbooks.
So now he was here at the cove, safe and sound, and he found he could even smile at his Lab trotting ahead, as eager as he to get back to Beach House No. 9. Private likely hoped he could sweet-look Jane into giving him a treat. She was easy that way. A total pushover for the dog.
Maybe Griffin could sweet-talk her into bed.
His sense of well-being grew, pushing out the edginess that had been growing the past few days as he came to the end of the manuscript pages he'd written. He remembered now working on the book in Afghanistan - and he didn't like recalling the day he'd set it aside. That particular memory loomed in the corner of his mind all the time, and more than once it had reached out with its claws to yank him low. Now, though, it seemed that the beast had retreated. At least for the moment.
Jane and Skye were sitting in chairs overlooking the beach. As his footsteps clapped against the wooden deck, Skye glanced over, then stood. The dress she'd worn for the day's event was as shapeless as the rest of her wardrobe. She'd pulled on an extra-large hoodie as insurance - against the ocean breeze, Griffin supposed. "Mail," she said, as he came